The Sentinels your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me

without knowing it, aria had a competitor. though deirdre adored the pale woman, she felt this place was her own as surely as donnelaith felt it of her. the girl who communed with the spirits, the birds, the bees, and the trees would come to be a woman, and would seek what she felt was her inheritance. but surely not without warning, not without the thoughts of those that she loved! for she respected aria, who had come to be as an older sister to her scarce though she could be from the lands. there had been a reason her father placed aria beside him, and deirdre did not doubt him. and if none could see her in such a way, well, she was no cruel and terrible tyrant.

deirdre inspected a growing plant, but heard the movement of a familiar tread. deirdre, unsure but wishing to find out, navigated toward it--ah, and there she was! aria, who was quite pretty, stood there in the plain light of day. the ever eloquent child drew close to aria, head held loftily above her shoulders as she smiled prettily toward her friend, a strange and fleeting sensation causing her belly to feel the most peculiar of flutters. aria! she greeted. deirdre, since the ceremony, felt in better spirits herself. did you dream of your special one? after a bit, she teased--though her voice erred on the serious side of interest--could it have been me you dreamt of?